


The Moment You've Been Waiting For

by BakerStreet_Revolutionary (BakerStreet_Kid)



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Doctor John Laurens Au, Henry Laurens' A+ Parenting, M/M, The Night Shift AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2018-07-26 03:01:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7557541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BakerStreet_Kid/pseuds/BakerStreet_Revolutionary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whilst working as an ER doctor on the night shift, John Laurens has witnessed the ups, downs, and everything in between, but he had no idea of what would happen when his car collided with Alexander Hamilton's. Told in parallel points of view, I attempt to make the Lams tag even fluffier than before (With a dash of angst... Naturally)<br/>Despite this being a Night Shift AU, you do not need to watch the TV show to understand the plot- I'm merely pinching story lines from this amazing show ♥ (Also because I know nothing of medical things and I needed some help)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rise Up

**Author's Note:**

> Formed from a late-night binge of the Night Shift and listening to the Hamilton soundtrack in between, came this adorable AU where an accident ends extremely happily.  
> Please note, that this is very much a work in progress...  
> Dedicated to the spice of my life; my fiery friend; the Peggy to my Hercules and the Anna to my Lady Mary ♥

[John]

The door swung open on its hinges, revealing the familiar apartment: walls painted white, contrasting to the rust-orange bricks that lay exposed on the other half of the room. Sprawled on the sofa, lay his roommate, Hercules Mulligan, whose fingers were busily unpicking and re-stitching onto fabric that had been delicately marked with white tailor's chalk. John Laurens stepped precariously through the doorframe, in attempt not to disturb the elder man, who continued to stitch at a furious pace. The doctor navigated himself through their tiny household, grabbing a beer from the fridge before collapsing next to his friend, who was surrounded by various threads, needles and buttons.  
"What are you still doing up?" The younger man enquired, glancing over to the watch that was strapped to his wrist, the dial flashing 4:30. Smiling, he tossed a wheel of thread from one hand to the other, before looping the material through the thin eye of a needle.  
"Presidential Gala tomorrow, and a certain French Ambassador wanted me to tailor his suit." He smirked, before picking up the threaded needle and handing it back to his roommate, signalling that the cuffs needed hemming. "It's a good job you can sew, Laurens. How comes you're so late?"  
John smirked as his hands rushed to the shirt cuffs, before eagerly running the needle through the material, each loop created with the dark thread almost identical to the last. Being a doctor, he had learn to deal with how to efficiently stitch a wound, and now the same precise method was being applied to a suit jacket belonging to the French Ambassador to the United States. He was glad to think that four years of medical school had taught him practical skills, as well as the ability to save someone's life. "We had a busy evening in the ER," He responded, his mind lurking back to hours ago, where he had helped to save the life of a couple, who had found themselves attached to a rebar (the force had pushed the bar through the top of the woman's throat, and pierced the helmet of her husband), which resulted in quick thinking surgery and life changing tactics. To say that it was an evening that John wouldn't be able to forget, would be an understatement. He admired the bravery of his patients, neither of them accepting pain relief, only yearning for the knowledge that their partner was ok; that they wouldn't have to face the recovery alone. John lingered on the thought, a smile brushing his lips, as his fingers continued to work: Black thread tacking down each important section of charcoal-grey material. "To top the evening off," He continued, "I managed to smash the front of my car into a very nice BMW." With a Cheshire-cat grin, he swung his legs over to his roommates', feet resting on his thighs in an affectionate manner; his limbs continued to ache from the hectic nature of his shift, but his fingers furiously continued, as he waited for the final verdict.  
"Congratulations, how is that much going to cost?" Mulligan sighed, as he focused on hand-sewing the shoulder seams, using his other hand to place John's legs on the coffee table, where his feet rested carefully between a scattering of mugs.  
"Nothing. Instead of taking down my insurance details, he took down my number and promised to take me to dinner next week." As he relished in the moment, silence fell across the apartment, before John turned to his beaming best friend.  
"You flirt, John Laurens." The tailor placed down his needle in favour of his beer, chinking the glass bottle with his roommates, "So you're gonna put out instead of having to pay to get his car fixed. I'm impressed."  
"I really like him. I don't think it's going to be a one-night thing. Ya know?" John replied, his eyes glimmering under the low light of the room. Realising the dead end in the conversation, he hummed softly as he moved onto the second cuff, "So you're Laf's wingman for the gala tomorrow?"  
Hercules hummed in reply, "The only perk of staying up this late is the sweet promise of no longer hearing about Lafayette's love life, and instead getting some of my own. And you know who is going--"  
"-- I don't need the gory details." John interrupted, wishing that Hercules would save him the intricate details of his unmanly crush on the second Schuyler sister.  
"You don't need them, but you're getting them anyway." He paused fondly, as he chuckled over the way John squirmed when he vividly described his latest conquests. "You're coming tomorrow, right?"  
John grimaced at the thought; until he could finish medical school (which his father was paying for), he was at the mercy of Henry Laurens' insane political campaigns, in which his children were paraded around ballrooms and galas, placed in front of high-end politicians, and forced to quote what they believed their father to be. For the next three months, John had to pretend that he was a heterosexual republican, who loved his father and everything he stood for.  
It was going to be a tricky three months.  
•  
The evening of the Gala arrived quickly after Hercules had laid his needle to rest, and Laurens was forced into a tuxedo of his own- an item of clothing he could not wait to burn, and then toss the remains in his father's face. He had pictured this scenario several times, usually he would be dressed in a rainbow flag, and dancing with cardboard cut outs of Bernie Sanders and Hillary Clinton, and preferably with his stethoscope swinging round his neck, as he loudly proclaimed his beliefs. Alas, he could only dream for now, but he couldn't wait for that day to come. As he squeezed his mane of curls into a low ponytail, a subtle knock was heard at the door.  
"Come in" He called, as he attempted to knot the black bow-tie around his neck, his eyes focused wholly on the material that seemed to fly around his fingers every time he tried to form some sort of bow. "Herc, can you please give me a hand, because even after three years of this insane masquera--" He blushed as he looked up to see the person lingering in the doorframe.  
"Unfortunately, I'm a poor substitute for Hercules, but I'm sure I'll be able to tie that for you." Angelica Schuyler waltzed through the door, in a blush-pink dress that hugged her waist perfectly, before the graceful material fluttered down to her knees. Moving closer to John, she threaded the material through her hands before tying it around his neck, "I can't wait for you to meet the new speechwriter," She spoke softly, the corners of her lips turning upwards to form a smile. "He's perfect for you- Puerto Rican, but grew up in the Caribbean... I don't know much about his family, so I guess you can both bond on your daddy issu--"  
"Please stop there." The doctor begged, stepping back slightly, "I thought we agreed no more blind dates? You know Benjamin still can't look me in eye, after he realised that it was a date, and not just a drink between friends..." cringed at the memory, his only thought being: the horror on the face of poor Benjamin when John leant in to kiss him goodnight. "And what about the others? The gay homophobe? Dare I even say the name Seabury?" He paused to take a breath. "No more, after this one. Ok?"  
"Ok." She responded, nodding her head slightly, a small smile on her lips. "I don't think you'll need another date with anyone else though, you two are perfect for each other." Angelica quickly interjected, as she neatly finished the bow-tie. "There, you actually look like you're almost a heterosexual republican, who loves his father."  
Chuckling at the statement, John couldn't help but smile at the eldest Schuyler sister. "So tell me more about this mystery man..."  
"He's... Political, funny when he wants to be; extremely passionate; incredibly flirtatious- He dated Eliza a bit during college, but in the end, they both wanted different things..." Angelica whittled along, words rambling at a mile-a-minute. "And before you ask, yes he is a gay democrat, who isn't that close to his family, so I'm sure you two can bond on your daddy issu-"  
"Stop right there." John said quietly, "He sounds brilliant, but I don't want to date at the moment. I'm focusing on passing med school and Herc needs help with the business, and I can barely afford rent let alone have a boyfriend, and there's so much emotional baggage.."  
"Just meet him. If anyone can change your mind it's Alexander." Angelica smiled, kissing him gently on the cheek before picking up his jacket that was draped lazily across the bed and threw it to him.  
As he shrugged the jacket on his shoulders, he smiled at Angelica, who was fiddling nervously with the hem of her dress. "So, what's going on in your love life?" He asked, a smirk written across his face, he suddenly turned to meet the sister face-to-face, so he could twirl her around and pull her into a tight hug.  
"What love life?" She asked, giggling softly, "It doesn't exist. You know me, John, I'm just like you... I'm looking for a mind at work."  
"So you don't want to hear about one of my friends from Oxford, who is magically single, and making their way over to America?"  
"Tell me more, tell me more" She half-sung, each word interrupted by constant giggles, "What's his name?"  
"That, my dearest Angelica, is for me to know and for you to find out."  
•  
A squeal escaped Angelica as her eyes feasted on the fairytale scene before her, the state dining room had been completely transformed. In order to fit the theme for the charity for whom they were raising money, which helped disabled and disadvantaged children gain communication through the act of storytelling and the arts, a foundation which was held in the hearts of many. Surveying the room, the young doctor couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of each table, which was decorated to the theme of a different fairytale. In the far corner, a large white table was surrounded with golden chairs and sprigs of olive leaves, to commemorate the mythical story of Hercules. Each table setting had its own Greek God standing over the name card, and naturally, the Hercules statue had been given to his namesake. He was then dragged over to Angelica's table, which was coveted with dark oak; each placemat formed from the cover of a French book and next to every name card was placed a single rose in a glass jar, he could hear Angelica's squeals interrupting his thoughts: "Look!" She cried, "It's Beauty and the Beast!", before she excitedly collapsed in her chair and practically began to burst with excitement. John's own table, was simple enough, with a green tablecloth draping the circular shape and bouquets of moss and wild flowers decorating the centre of the table. As he sat down in front of his place card, he picked up the hand-crafted bow and arrow that lay in front of him, as he eagerly examined it's craftsmanship, he found it engraved, "Made in Sherwood Forest, property of Robin Hood."  
The evening continued as most did, he was lucky to be reunited with his sister, who he only ever seemed to meet on occasions such as these, he sighed discontentedly to the days where they would chat for hours upon end, and trade their darkest secrets. Martha was every bit her mother's daughter, and it pained John to see her look so similar to the woman he loved so dearly: her chocolate-brown hair falling in curls across delicate shoulders and green inquisitive eyes, which sought to discover your worst secrets.  
Martha's eyes latched on to his slim figure, her hand launching towards his face in a stinging slap, that left an evident mark against his hollow cheekbones, "Why did you come here?", she cried, voice revealing her pain and fear in every syllable that left her vocal chords. 

Wincing, he caught her hand before she approached another slap, "What?", he asked quietly, as every pair of eyes in the room latching onto the couple in confusion. Tugging her wrist gently, he took her into a lavish hallway, decorated with white flowers and twinkling gently with fairy-lights.

"You bastard" She replied in a fierce whisper, "You know why."

"Believe me when I say that I really don't, Marty" His soft tones weeping with confusion.  
Her eyes began to fill with tears, as she cringed with thought, "Does June the 21st not ring any bells? Or did you just forget the anniversary of our mother?" She cried hysterically, "Every year since she passed we have followed the same tradition, or did that slip your fucking mind, Jacky? It's been three years. And ever since the kindest spirit in the household left, we all promised to reunite on her anniversary. She meant everything to you and you didn't even bother to show up."

His eyes widened, "I wasn't invited, Marty, I swear, Dad said that nothing was happening this year, because you've all moved away from home now, all living in different parts of the world, all of you making your own differences. He said nothing was going on." Letting go of her wrist, he wiped a small tear from the corner of her eye, "I swear." He repeated softly.  
She shook her head. "I don't believe you."

"You know our father." His intensity grew as he stepped forward slightly, "You know what he's like, Marty. In your mind, you can fathom that he would divide our family to conquer it- He would do anything to make me the reason I'm no longer in the family. Not the fact that I'm majoring in medicine, not law, or the fact that I'm attracted to men, or that I don't even support his political views. You believe me, you just don't want to acknowledge it." And with that, his feet dragged him in the direction of the bar, which was decorated with red silk and golden statues from Mulan, Hercules' favourite, he thought, as he slumped on to the black-leather barstool. Slinging a burning Jack Daniels to the back of his neck, his features winced as his whole body reacted to stinging liquor that flooded his senses: hands making tiny fists and releasing them with every exhalation; eyes tightly shut, before fluttering open gracefully, reacting to the single tap on his shoulder. 

"John" A familiar voice soothed, soft fingers gently nudging his shoulder blades, "John, I'd like to introduce you to Alexander, who writes the speeches for Washington, I've wanted you two to meet for years. "

John spun round, mouth ready to pour an apology for his ill-manners, but he remained silent, when his eyes latched on to the man, who had been introduced to him moments ago. "Alex?" He questioned, a smile rapidly erupting on his face. 

"Hot Doctor John," The man replied, a similar smile appearing, "You're the last person I expected to see here."

The two started rapidly conversing, words firing faster than ammunition from a gun: the speech writer's words flying into the air, his smile matching the intensity of his conversation. Angelica Schuyler, however, could do nothing but stand back and let her jaw drop to the floor, after what seemed hours of the two engaging in conversation, she placed a hand over the mouths of the two men, and shut her eyes for a brief reprieve. 

"What is going on here?" She questioned, her shrill voice and eyes piercing into the minds of the two men who stood either side of her. "This was supposed to be an introduction, and you're speaking as if you've been married for a decade! Both have a drink, turn around, take a deep breath, and one at a time please explain how on God's green earth that you know each other?!"

Both the doctor and the speechwriter took a step towards the bar, both hastily ordering their respective drinks, before grabbing the glass that had been set in front of them, and hastily drank before they started to explain to Angelica the kerfuffle that lay before them.

"John reversed his car into mine," Alex began, "Which I was secretly glad of, in order to receive a new company car, from none other than G-Wash himself. When the young Laurens came out of his car, he began to apologise profusely, but instead of demanding his insurance details, I may have persuaded him to date me."

Angelica smiled. "I can't wait for you to tell your children that."


	2. The room (Carpark) where it happens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the speechwriter gets hit (quite literally) by the bombshell that is Dr. John Laurens, he realises that his life will be quite different from now on. As he faces the constant battles against Jefferson and sleep deprivation, he starts to think that this mystery man might really be a change for the better...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Lin voice* Hello, hello.  
> This is Alexander's Point of View from the first chapter of the fic :) As mentioned before, the fic will be in parallel narrative meaning that it switches point of view from chapter to chapter. I really love writing from two different perspectives as it allows the reader to have more detail on a situation they were already familiar with *English moment over* Yay!
> 
> It's amazing to receive so much support from an amazing group of readers ♥ Thank you all so much! My smile just continues to get bigger every time you guys hit that Kudos button :) 
> 
> Unlike the last chapter, this one is dedicated to two people: First of all: The spice of my life, the apple of my eye and the Marcus Mumford to my Carey Mulligan ♥ And secondly to the creator of Hillbilly Boy, Toothbrush Girl and Penny-Picking Steve: The musical. Words cannot describe how amazing and supportive the two of you are x
> 
> Lin- If you ever want to fly over to England and discuss musicals for hours on end, I would be truly blessed.

[Alex]  
   
The violent buzzing of his phone jerked him rudely from his sleep; each note of the tune dragging him mercilessly from the slumber that he so desperately needed. Chocolate eyes blinked rapidly as he woke, his heavy head slowly rising from the hard wooden desk that served as his pillow; sheets of paper  absentmindedly surrounding over his small frame.  
Dark eyes, carrying heavy bags, winced at the bright light that emerged from his battered flip-phone, still droning with the sound of the ringtone Eliza had set for herself. Groaning, he opened the device, cursing violently as the phone reminded him of his sleep-deprived state.  
   
"What is it this time?" He asked, voice breaking between words.  
   
"Where are you? - You were supposed to be meeting Washington an hour ago" She gently reminded him, knowing that most days he burned the candle at both ends, and despite no longing being in a relationship with the man, a large part of her still cared for the sleep-deprived speechwriter. "And please don't make any excuse, because I will never get the half-an-hour back that Angelica spent moaning and groaning about your tardiness... Alex, we worry about you, quite a lot, sometimes too much, and we think that  maybe you should take a break from the constant exhaustion you inflict on yourself, instead of working yourself to the bone. Alex, for a man of many words you're being oddly quiet, what's wrong?"  
   
Silence.  
   
"Alex?" Eliza queried. "Alex? Are you there?"   
   
Halfway through Eliza's speech (he couldn't remember the exact timing of when it happened), his phone had swiftly fallen out of his hand, and his slept-in suit was quickly removed and dispersed around the floor of his office. Scrambling half-naked around his tiny apartment, he searched for any item of clothing that resembled something suitable for an audience with the president, whilst simultaneously finding the nearest hairbrush and filing it through his black mane, before scraping the ebony-coloured mess into a bun. He took two seconds to survey himself in the mirror: his caramel-skin fading with exhaustion, and dark eyes overshadowed by bags; his limp frame carried a baggy white shirt, with his sleeves rolled to his elbows and the top button of his collar was undone. Abandoning the task of locating a matching jacket, he scooped his keys from the bowl and quickly escaped the confines of his tiny apartment. Slamming the door behind him, he began to run as fast as his legs would take him, shoving past almost anyone in his way, and apologising to the old man he knocked over every day, he continued to run, his lungs slowly exhaling gas faster tan he could inhale it; leaning next to a lamppost to recover his breath, he cast his mind back to the moment that brought him there. That's when he remembered, not only was his phone lingering somewhere on the floor of his study, but he had a battered old car that he could have easily taken to the office. Turning on his heel, he began to run again, sprinting back down the road, quickly surveying the chaos he had caused, and accidentally barging past the very same old man who he had knocked over just minutes before hand. As he reached his apartment, he swiftly fell through the door and scrambled towards his office, not bothering to leave the floor as he did so, his hands desperately reached out to grab his phone, apologising to Eliza, who, miraculously, was still on the line.   
   
"Care to explain what happened?" She asked, responding to his bizarre and late apology.  
   
"Ran to work, leaving the phone and the keys to the car still locked in my apartment," Alexander replied, a smile across his face, as he took short, sharp breaths between every word, "Sorry about that."  
   
"Just get to work, Alex, and somehow, using that brilliant brain of yours, explain why you missed this meeting."  
   
"I was doing my job," He explained, chuckling softly at her reaction, "And I fell asleep mid-draft, and the gala is tomorrow. Your darling sister believes that I have finished the speech weeks ago-- Which I did, but there were so many adjustments that needed to be made, and then I realised that the president would want to address how the arts actually evolves with the children, and advancements are being made in technology to help children with disabilities get more involved..." He paused, to gather his thoughts, which Eliza took as a signal to interrupt.  
   
"So how many pages was it originally?" Eliza asked, her question surprisingly direct for someone usually soft and gentle in her approach.  
   
"Twenty-eight." He replied, a hint of resignation in his voice.  
   
"And how many is it now?"  
   
"Thirty-two."  
   
•  
   
   
Text Messages- 27/03/2016  
   
To: Betsey  
   
Angelica's making me pick you up from work. I'll be waiting in the car park.  
   
From: Betsey  
   
Ok? Can I ask why? Or has Angelica sworn you to secrecy?  
   
To: Betsey  
   
It's best not to say  
   
From: Betsey  
   
She will tell me, so it's best if it comes from you.  
   
To: Betsey  
   
I refused to give her my essay, and she practically prized it out of my fingers...   
   
From: Betsey  
   
What else?  
   
From: Betsey  
   
I know when you're keeping something secret, Alexander, what else happened?  
   
To: Betsey  
   
She bit me.   
   
•  
   
His fingers swiftly tapped the steering wheel, nails creating rapid rhythms onto the uneven surface, as each semiquaver was tapped urgently onto the worn part of the car, his fingertips began to explore the dark leather and Alexander Hamilton was soon consumed in thought: words flooding his senses, as a melodic pattern filled his brain, his vocal chords created a soft hum that was almost inaudible to anyone, but to him it was the creation of his great unfinished symphony. As each thought was created, it was soon linked to an idea, thus forming a platform for the next great debate. He was released from his thoughts by the sound of the whirring siren of an Ambulance, and it took him a minute to figure out where he was in the world, as his thoughts had transported him to a place so deep in thought, that it was a million miles away from the car park of the George Washington Hospital, where he waited patiently for Eliza to finish her shift working as a music therapist in the pedantic wing of the hospital (She only ever needed someone else to be there after to work to carry her dozens of instruments to the trunk.)  He gazed into the blur of blue that was created across the grey concrete of the parking lot; sirens continued to echo past different cars of all shapes and sizes. He was once again plunged deep into thought: thoughts being crafted into words, of how each decision that Washington made affected everyone in America: his words had repercussions and echoed throughout every human in America, no matter their shape, size, colour, religion, race or sexual orientation. Springing out of his whirlwind of ideas, he scrambled around the car, searching desperately for any scrap of paper to which he could scribble his thoughts - he eventually discovered an old Starbucks napkin, the corners brown from coffee stains, the occasional crumb of food where it had served as a plate for his carb-filled snacks. He soon filled the napkin corner to corner with black ink, words spilling on the paper, creating a narrative fit for the legacy that Washington wanted to leave. He started to mumble, gradually gaining an obsession with every thought that was flooding the page, until another car skidded into the bay in front of his, promptly crashing into the front of his car. A loud thud sounded as the airbag inflated into Alexander's face, tearing apart his pen from the napkin and ending his train of thought. He squirmed his way out of the car, to see the other driver panicking, a nervous look written all over his face.  
   
Alex did a double take, and couldn't believe the beauty that he was witnessing before his eyes: light-chocolate skin stood before him in a stature taller than his own; freckles scattering his face: creating a stunning map of constellations over his nose and cheeks. Alex stood there, stunned and totally entranced by his hazel-coloured eyes, before realising that he was just staring at the man in complete disbelief.  
   
"Shit." The man said, face cringing slightly at the damage he had caused, "I'm so sorry, but I was running late to my shift, and I've got a lot on my mind at the moment, because my dad is in town, and it's a lot of pressure that he's putting on me to be the perfect son, and I guess I just got distracted and I wasn't thinking straight." He paused, his face pouring an apology that his voice couldn't articulate. "And now I'm here, telling you my life story, instead of showing you my insurance details, because you know, my life is just a total wreck at the moment, and I can't even park a car properly."  
   
Alex smiled, "It's nice to hear about someone's life that is more eventful than my own," He chuckled slightly, laughing at a joke the other man wouldn't understand, "Don't worry about the insurance, instead let me take you out to coffee. I'm waiting for a friend who'll probably be an hour or two longer, so I could happily listen to more of your life over a cup of crappy coffee in the cafeteria." He brushed John's hands down, as he was rapidly searching for his insurance details that seemed to have disappeared from his wallet.  
   
Curls, Alex had named him, smiled softly in return, "Coffee sounds great, but my shift starts in twenty minutes and we have the change over from the day shift happening any second now- and I've got to keep up with an incredibly long list of patients." He chuckled, realising the easiness of the conversation, "I haven't even told you my name." He said softly, blush rising in his cheeks, "I'm John Laurens, I should really say Dr. John Laurens, I just haven't gotten used to it yet."  
   
Alex held out his hand, "Well, hot doctor John, it's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Alexander Hamilton, but unfortunately my job doesn't allow me to have a title in front of my name."  
   
"So I'll meet you up for coffee." John replied, his hand gripping the other man's tightly for a second before he glanced at his watch and ran in the direction of the ER. Alex watched him as he approached the front doors, he stopped, hung his head and turned around, sprinting back in Alexander's direction. "We should probably exchange numbers, unless you want to keep meeting up like this until we eventually plan a date" He chuckled softly, panting under his breath.  
   
Alex beamed, as he chucked John his flip-phone that has certainly seen better days, and speedily typed his number into John's iPhone, changing the name saved on his phone to "That totally hot guy you just met in the carpark."  
   
John stepped forward to Alex, and kissed him gently on the cheek, before running once more into the direction of the entrance of the emergency room.  
   
•  
Alex stared at his phone, cursor blinking away as he wracked his brain for something ingenious to type as an opening text to John. "Hi," He typed, waiting for the words to fill the message box as they always did, but nothing seemed to happen, he couldn't keep his mind off of John's eyes, and his perfect star-kissed skin. He deleted the two letters, "Hello" he typed, "It's Alexander." He shook his head, sighing about how formal it sounded and once again, erased the letters that had imprinted on the screen. "I am not throwing away my shot." The writer typed, fingers confident as every character appeared on the text, but he quickly judged himself, and erased all evidence of the message that he was about to send. He closed his eyes and typed the first thing that came to his mind.  
   
Text Messages- 27/03/2016  
   
To: Hot Doctor John  
   
Your face has been kissed by the stars: creating perfect constellations.   
   
To: Hot Doctor John  
   
The likelihood of that happening is minimal,  but poetically it sounds quite Shakespearean.  
   
From: Hot Doctor John  
   
I mean, most people start with Hello.  
   
To: Hot Doctor John  
   
What can I say? I have a way with words.  
   
To: Hot Doctor John  
   
And, I'm nothing like most people   
   
From: Hot Doctor John  
   
I'm glad to hear it, I would hate for you to be predictable.  
   
•  
   
Alex had the fright of his life when Eliza's fingers rapped on the glass window of the car, "Alex," She called softly, "I need help with the keyboard, one of it's wheels is broken and I can't lift it by myself"  
   
"Shit," Alex exclaimed, forgetting that the reason he was sitting in the carpark in the first place was to pick Eliza up from work. He scrambled out of the car, and walked with Eliza in the direction of the hospital, climbing the stairs of the familiar building to retrieve the keyboard that Eliza insisted goes with her everywhere.   
   
"You've got that smile on your face" she smirked, knowing every facial expression that man could pull, and recognising the look he had when Alex had the opportunity to chat to someone who made his heart skip a beat.   
   
"What smile?" He questioned, in an oddly high-pitch, before desperately trying to move his lips into a thin line across his face, but no matter how hard he had tried, the corners of his lips forced their way upwards, creating a smile on the face of the stubborn speechwriter.  
   
"The smile you're trying so desperately to hide." Eliza replied, a small giggle forming, "The same smile you wore when we met in college."  
   
"That's my natural smile."  
   
She snorted, bursting into hysterics of laughter, "Alex, every picture I have of you smiling, your face makes a desperate attempt to show me every tooth you have in your mouth. Believe me: this smile is different."  
   
Alex smirked at the thought of the different smile, as they made their way to his car.  
   
"Does the dent on the bonnet have anything to do with the smile on your face?"  
   
He shook his head in reply.  
   
"You're silent when you lie" She urged him gently, "Alex, what happened."  
   
He quickly began to overly-enthusiastically describe Dr. John Laurens, going into almost every detail of his freckled face that made constellations, and the curly hair that was nearly wrapped into a bun, with a few strands eager to escape their elastic prison. He continued to beam as he described him, detailing to Eliza every second of their conversation.  
   
"I suppose it's too late to ask him to the gala?" Eliza promoted, eager to meet the man, whom Alexander could write novels about.   
   
"What Gala?" He asked, his eyebrows raised slightly, knitting together in the middle of his forehead, signalling his immense confusion.  
   
"The presidential gala, tomorrow evening- Please don't tell me you've forgotten."  
   
"I need to get a suit," He responded quietly, and continued to drive. 

•

As Alex's feet crossed the threshold of the State Dining Room, he felt several pairs of eyes latch on to his limp frame: eyes gouging into his as if he was hiding some sort of national secret. Darting towards the President, who was speaking rapidly to Lafayette, he questioned for the hundredth time whether something was going on between the two, he observed the two men as Lafayette drew closer, he couldn't help but ponder how those two managed to become such good friends (or more, no-one really liked to ask), they were polar opposites of each other: Lafayette being crazy and outrageously spontaneous, whereas Washington was the very definition of calm and collected, each and every event planned and any discrepancies taken for, he was perfectly organised. In other words he had no idea what happened or how it happened. He continued to stroll towards Washington, speech composing itself in his head, and as he did, he felt Angelica swiftly pull his arm, and drag him into the direction of the bar, where a lone figure was hunched over an empty whisky-glass, slumping lazily on his barstool. 

"John," Angelica poked the man, " John, I'd like to introduce you to Alexander, who writes the speeches for Washington, I've wanted you two to meet for years. "

Turning round, the man smiled instantly as his eyes met Alexander's, mouth gaping open ever so slightly, the faint hint of surprise lurking behind hazel-eyes that Alex had spent many moments fantasizing about.

"Alex?" John questioned, standing up to meet the flirtatious man face-to-face. 

Eyes widening, left eyebrow quirked, he attempted to cover his confusion "Hot Doctor John."

"What are you doing here?" The doctor questioned, "Wait. Hang on. Just a second." Alex smiled as the cogs in John's brain started to turn. "You're Washington's speechwriter"

He nodded in reply, eyes dancing with excitement, his symphony starting to orchestrate itself in his mind, "So," He started, "What is the most dashing doctor in DC doing at a Presidential Gala?"

"Unfortunate relations." 

"Relations?" Hamilton quickly questioned, not even wondering about the young man's heritage, as he realised, his mouth formed a small 'oh', his disappointment soon flooding his face, the only thought on his mind being: But John seemed so different. "Your Henry Laurens' son. The one set to inherit his great land and winning reputation. Wow, Laurens, I have to say, I expected mo--"

"I am nothing like that bag of dicks." John interjected, "I will never inherit anything, because I've never wanted anything that belongs to him: the man is a racist homophobe, who only cares for himself. He is willing to turn my family against me to prove that I mean nothing to him."

Alex stood back for a second, his mind impressed by the act of rebellion from the young defiant doctor, "You've never looked more attractive, John Laurens." He stood closer, not losing eye-contact for a second, their lips almost touching until Angelica pushed her hands on each man's shoulders, pushing them both apart.

"What's going on here?" She cried, voice hysterical, and eyes searching both men for an answer, "This was supposed to be an introduction, and you're speaking as if you've been married for a decade! Both of you, have a drink, turn around and take a deep breath, and one at a time please explain how on God's green earth that you know each other?"

Both turned around to the bar, Alexander's eyes not leaving John's for a second, "I'll text you later," The speechwriter began, "and hopefully when we next meet up, we can finish where we left off."

"That's incredibly cheesy for you to say," The other man whispered in reply, "But I'm expecting flowers and chocolates next time, as well as the cheesy speech."


	3. My life is fine 'cause Hamilton's in it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being an ER doctor, John Laurens had seen some sights, but he didn't expect his favourite speechwriter to turn up at his door...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the lateness of this chapter, and even though it doesn't really move the plot along, it provides support for the next one, so it will be worth it!  
> This chapter is set about 2 or 3 days after the gala, just to let you know!  
> TRIGGER WARNINGS: As this is a Hospital!AU, there are some descriptions of blood and stitches etc... As well as the tiniest tiny mention of homophobic-related-abuse, but it's not graphic :)  
> Once more, this chapter is dedicated to two amazing people in my life: The first: The Batman to my Robin, the Ginger to my Posh spice and the Michelle to my Barack- I love you to bits, and I couldn't imagine my life with out you and secondly to the bum who's working for three months, I miss you every day ♥
> 
> Lin, I love you more than life itself, please buy a plane ticket, and we'll chat over coffee
> 
> Also, for those who are wondering: Doctor Stephanie Hopkins is based off of Stephen Hopkins, who worked with John Laurens in the revolution (I think, correct me if I'm wrong)- When writing her, I based her off of Dr. Jordan Alexander from the night shift!

[John]  
Being an ER doctor, John Laurens had seen some sights: dealing with shootings, stabbings, kidnappings and everything in between. Most nights, there was a calm air around the emergency room: a few were sent up to the main hospital for various operations, others waltzed in with superficial wounds, so often enough, John found himself stitching, stapling, gluing and removing various objects from the rectums of his patients. It wasn't glamorous, but it certainly made for some stories to tell (No-one knew how that toilet brush got up a certain patient's ass, and no-one really wanted to ask.)  
He had found himself alone with his patient, softly patching up the dark red wounds that had poured over his skin, fingers delicately moving over each wound. As he did so, his lips pressed together and allowed himself the opportunity to hum softly as he cared for his patient in the best way he could- the melody poured from his vocal chords, each note softly melting into the next, with every breath, he moved to the next note, smiling as he did so, thoughts tracking back to the previous evening. Between choruses, he spoke softly to his patient, words flying as quickly as the notes that poured from his vocal chords- the whole time they were completely interrupted, and John felt obliged to tell his patient about Alexander: this beautiful speechwriter who had changed his life the minute he walked into it, and there was a second that passed where he didn't think of him. Continuing to hum, he realised that his patient, James, had started to tap his foot to the rhythm of the tune that lingered on his lips.

A cough erupted from the lungs of the chief of the ER, and he looked up to see that he was surrounded by a small gaggle of doctors, nurses and support staff who had entered the room without him noticing, walking in like silent ghosts, whose footsteps knew every inch of the hospital floors.

"You're quite the performer, Doctor Laurens" A warm compliment left the lips of the chief of the ER, a talented doctor, whose fiery spirit and determined nature had moved the ER from strength to strength; Doctor Hopkins had made herself a force to be reckoned with, "I hope your stitches are just as good." Picking up the arm in front of her, she surveyed every stitch that had been gently formed by John, and she looked up to him after surveying every strand. "Impressive."

"Thank you, Doctor Hopkins, I hope I'm making a difference here." He blushed at her praise, words bumbling out of his mouth as he addressed her.

"You are, John. I hope you're applying for your residency" She asked softly, moving across the room to pick up the clipboard that was clipped to the patient's bed.

Eyes widening, John stepped back slightly, surprised by her sudden question- he hadn't even dreamt of applying, "I was hoping for you to advise me on what to do, Doctor Hopkins."

"You're more than qualified, Laurens." Whilst moving around, her dark hair swung across her scrub-covered shoulders, checking the machines attached to James, assuring John that he hadn't missed anything of importance, "It would be a good move for you: you're the top of your class, and you have an amazing bedside manner, not to mention you can perform," She chuckled slightly, "Apply, and I'll countersign your application."

"Thank you, Doctor Hopkins" He responded, smiling softly, "Any advice?"

"Treat the nurses like family and they'll love you forever."

Dismissing the patient, they chatted fondly walking over to the break room and grabbing some much needed caffeine, though young, Hopkins was a remarkable doctor, and soon became a mentor to John, guiding him through everything he needed, and somehow, he felt like he had gained a friend. As they continued to sip on their well-deserved coffee, Hopkins looked deeply into his eyes and giggled, "So, who is he?"

"I don't know what you mean, you forget yourself" John replied, eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

"You're like me, John, I can never hide when I've met someone new"

Smiling, he couldn't help but let out a soft chuckle, "But I didn't even tell you that I was---"

"Honey" Stephanie Hopkins flashed him a wide smile, "I grew up in San Francisco, it's like the recognition system is built into you at birth." She giggled into her cup, "So who is he?"

John looked down at the dark brown liquid swimming in the polystyrene cup, focusing on the bubbles forming at the edges, steam slowly forming towards the white lid that balanced gently over the rim of the cup. Raising his eyes to meet Stephanie's, a warm smile formed over his lips, "I don't know where to start," his hands tapping along the Styrofoam cup, gently pouring a rhythm that differed from the one earlier, "We met in the parking lot, funnily enough- He's smart, political, outrageously opinionated, proud of what he does, and he is essentially sex on legs." He chuckled, gushing at the thought of Alex, everything about the man made him smile, from the way he tucked his hair behind his ear when he was nervous, to when he spoke at a mile a minute when he was passionate about a subject.

"Does he have a name?" She asked, coaxing more information from her young apprentice.

Running his hands through his hair, he chuckled, "Yes."

"Brilliant, I've always wanted to meet a man called Yes."

They continued through the evening, bumbling along through patient after patient, stitching methodically and precisely, working in parallel in a steady rhythm, both working through each task that presented itself: nothing particularly out of the ordinary, until Alexander Hamilton walked through the double doors of the ER.

   
•  
   
Feet pounded through the thick mud that ran parallel to the Potomac, white trainers plodding through the dark brown paste, creating a steady rhythm as Hercules Mulligan raced across, feet dancing across the plain as he steadily paced himself. His thoughts flew back to the evening of the gala, and his feet suddenly picked up, abandoning the beat of the music to which they were running, finding himself sprinting along the path of the river, following the twists and turns that the natural course had created for itself- his legs continued to furiously pace as if he were powered by rocket fuel, each stepped bound and wrapped with heaps of energy, he couldn't help but bound further along the river bank, no-longer restricted by the pace he had set for himself. He stopped in his tracks, breaths now short and shallow in a desperate attempt to keep circulating the air around his body, he looked around the river bank and was quietly surprised by his surroundings- Usually on a run, his eyes would be on the floor, focusing intently on the footprints he had left behind on the muddy surface, but today he lifted his eyes to the forest that surrounded him; focusing on the overwhelming amounts of green that flooded the skyline, and the dark wood that supported them. Moving from his spot on the path, his body sloped desperately to a nearby bench, carved with various names of who loved who, he chuckled, surveying the various carvings, eyes opened to the activities one could get up to on a bench, and he felt the tiniest bit intrigued. Unplugging the music that was pounding into his headphones, his ears listened closely to nature's symphony: the soft hum of the springtime breeze blowing through the leaves, the soft chirping of birds nestled in their nests, taking in this vast masterpiece, he allowed himself to become absorbed in his surroundings, forgetting for a moment who he was or what he came for. His thoughts were disturbed by the soft tapping of delicate fingers on his shoulder, he smiled softly in anticipation, wondering who might be wanting of his attention- perhaps it was Lafayette: desperate for help with his new beau; there was a possibility that it could even be Hamilton, who would have left his vast chrysalis to seek advice about how to doubt John; it was unlikely it could be who he wanted it to be, who his eyes were longing to see, and his lips longing to touch.

"Sorry," A small voice erupted from the child that stood behind him, his smile dropped as he realised it wasn't who he was expecting "But you left your phone on the floor. It's been buzzing quite a lot."

He muttered a small reply of thanks, his fingers urged to the screen to discover who had been texting.

**Text Messages: 30/3/2016**

**From: Angelica**

I haven't heard from Eliza in days. What did you do to her?

**From: Angelica**

YOUR ROOMMATE SAID SHE'S BEEN THERE EVERYDAY SINCE THE GALA

**From: Angelica**

HERCULES MULLIGAN CALL ME RIGHT NOW

**From: Angelica**

YOU'D BETTER HAVE AN EXPLANATION FOR THIS

 

**From: The worst roommate ever**

Heads up- Angelica knows

**From: The worst roommate ever**

You might want to call her

 

**From: Eliza**

I've just seen Laf walking out of a flower shop with several bouquets and the biggest smile I've ever seen on anyone's face

**From: Eliza**

Do you know who the mystery man is?

**To: Eliza**

Wouldn't you like to know ;)

   
•  
   
"Alex, what's happened?" John queried, staring at his counterpart in immense disbelief, whose eye revealed that someone had punched him: the bruising now black and purple around the edges, forcing it closed. His hands, were in much worse shape, knuckles weeping soft tears of blood, which danced it's way over his coffee-coloured skin, the liquid creating a path down his arm. John met his eyes, staring intently to the pools of hazelnut that had found their way in his eyes, "You can tell me, Alex, what happened?"

"James Madison found out about us." Hamilton sighed, "Well, Madison and Jefferson. They believe that our relationsh-- what ever it is, is holding Washington's administration back. They unleashed their cronies on me as I was walking back."

John's mouth formed a small, "Oh", and he led him over to the first trauma room, gently stitching up his open wounds, and pressing a kiss to his forehead. The young doctor stared at the speechwriter's hands, "You fought back", he declared softly, a hint of pride in his voice.

"Of course I did." Alex replied, winking gently at the ma, "In all honesty, I came here to ask you on a date- the wounds were just added bonuses." He let out a soft chuckle, wincing only slightly, "From the moment I met you, I wanted something more than just someone to dance with at a gala, so I would love to take you out."

"On a proper date?" John asked, a smile forming across his lips, "I need to find Doctor Hopkins"

Alexander stared in confusion, his eyes screaming of the internal panic that was currently occurring in his mind, "John, don't leave", he called, as the younger man walked towards the door, not even looking behind him. A small sob escaped him, his mind producing thoughts of worry: _John couldn't even stand to be in the same room as you_ , his mind taunted rudely, _he's gone to get another doctor._

"This is Doctor Hopkins," John introduced, "She'll be your doctor from now on."

Alex continued to look confused, a small tear of worry creeping along the waterline of his eyelid.

"She will be your doctor from now on" John explained, "Because I'm not allowed to date my patients, and I would like to date you, Alexander Hamilton. Very much."


	4. Let this moment be the first chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Lin voice* Hello, hello.  
> This is Alexander's Point of View from the second chapter of the fic :) As mentioned before, the fic will be in parallel narrative meaning that it switches point of view from chapter to chapter. I really love writing from two different perspectives as it allows the reader to have more detail on a situation they were already familiar with *English moment over* Yay!  
> I loved writing this chapter, despite it taking so long to be uploaded, and for that I apologise- I have had a hectic past few months, since the last update, so much has changed in my life, and I'm just trying to settle down into my new way of life :)  
> Keep hitting that Kudos button! It makes my day when I see that someone has taken the time to read this little drabble!
> 
> This is dedicated to the Madison to my Jefferson, the Groff to my Lin and the Remus to my Sirius. I'm eternally grateful to every minute that you spend listening to my insane thoughts and ideas, I am indebted to you.
> 
> Please enjoy this chapter and scribble your thoughts down in the comments below.

[Alex]

 

Being a speechwriter, Alexander Hamilton found it hard to believe that a blank piece of paper could be as daunting as it was: to him, it was a snowy canvas waiting to be filled with scrawling loops of squid-like ink. How a sheet composed of cellulose wood fibres could render a man such as himself speechless, left him baffled and confused, and often sent him into a constant whirlwind of existentialism. Hoping to distract his mind that was whirring furiously, he began to tap his pen softly against the white of paper, hence creating a deluge of black dots: soon the paper was swarmed with small marks created from rhythm of his ever-turbulent thoughts. Picking up his pen and spinning it through his fingers, he mused for a second, as he put the writing-apparatus to his temple, connecting it to his brain, and soon flowed his first refrain, a testimony to the pain he felt when he tried to articulate his emotions towards Doctor John Laurens.

Finally it came to him.

 

**Laurens, I like you a lot.**

 

It was soon scribbled out, lines like train-tracks racing through the words, it wasn't strong enough, it didn't convey what he wanted to say- He couldn't possibly imagine a day where he didn't talk to him, or listen intently to the thousands of stories he had to tell.

 

**My Dear Laurens, it might be in my power, by action rather than words, to convince you that I love you.**

 

Love? How had it progressed so quickly? They hadn't even been on a date, but he was already convinced that this man, this marvel, was so much more than a meaningless fling, or another conquest. John Laurens was so much more than someone he had ever experienced before- he was an exquisite human being, a supernova shining throughout the sky, he illuminated Alex's existence. He made everything worthwhile. He pondered on his thoughts- was this it? What was next? Suddenly he would tell him his feelings then everything would happen at once, changing the course of time overnight with the intensity of a hurricane. He scribbled the three words out, criss-crossing out those eight letters that conveyed so much meaning.

 

**John Laurens.** _He wrote carefully._ **I don't know what's happening or where we're going, but I know for sure, that no matter what happens, I want to take you out on a world-stopping date.**

 

 

*

 

**Text Messages- 30/3/2016**

 

**To: Betsey**

 

Help me.

 

**To: Betsey**

 

Oh dear lord, help me.

 

**To: Betsey**

 

You know I'd never ask for help if I didn't need it.

 

**From: Betsey**

 

Stay exactly where you are, I'm on my way.

 

*

 

He lay on the floor of his flat surrounded by various papers, filled with cramped handwritten notes, filling the white paper from corner to corner. A pen in one hand, and a coffee in the other he lay there, thoughts consuming his mind, as the wheels in his mind continued to turn: thoughts and ideas slowly connecting to each other to create some sort of scheme.

 

He failed.

 

In a moment of pure inspiration, he jumped towards the bookcase: hands reaching out to grasp the leather-bound books that stood there idly on the shelves. Fingernails grabbing at the cases as book after book was thrown from the shelf into a never-ending pile: all the romantic classics found themselves on the floor- some were missing pages now, others were lying half-way open, and the rest basked in the sun, the gold lettering on the spine glistening underneath the warm rays. Hamilton found himself on the floor again, rough hands flicking through each page of the beautifully covered books. He found himself staring aimlessly at the edition of Pride and Prejudice that lay on the floor: delicate patterns swirling over the book cover, enticing Alexander to look further into it- For an inanimate object, it seemed so enticing and welcoming. He raced over to it, and frantically read it from cover to cover. Though a romantic book such as this wouldn't have been his first choice, it had been Eliza's firm favourite since her teenage years, and she never failed to read it twice a year: whenever she found someone new in her life, and always at Christmas. Though Alex would rather be reading works by famous philosophers, or the historical foundations of the country in which he lived, but he found himself intrigued by this unusual love-story: five sisters, each in need of a husband: each one different in their mannerisms, there was Jane- the hopeless romantic. _That's obviously Eliza._ He thought to himself, smiling at the soft, cinnamon-roll-nature of the eldest Bennett sister. The other sisters: headstrong and obstinate Lizzie, who was perfectly content to live a poor life if she found love- _Lafayette,_ Hamilton mused. Then Mary, diligent and pious, _obviously Burr_. Kitty, who was endlessly yearning for someone else: _Hercules Mulligan._ And the youngest, foolish Lydia who would settle for a whirlwind marriage than have any sense of a future with the perfect person- He couldn't place a friend as Lydia, or even a rival. He couldn't place it. Continuing to read, he lay on the floor, until Eliza burst through the door: complexion flushed, hair messy and skirt the wrong way round.

 

"I thought you said you were in trouble" She scorned lightly, the hint of a small smirk on her face.

 

Hamilton looked up, dark eyes staring into those of Eliza's, and he smiled bashfully, "I need to plan the perfect date for John," He responded, pausing to gaze at her dishevelled state of dress, "Who were you with?"

 

"I wasn't with anyone" She lied, looking down to twist her skirt and realign her buttons.

 

"Oh really?" He questioned, "So you don't know why Angelica has been down our throats all week because you haven't come back home"

 

"I don't know what you're talking about" she responded, waltzing into the kitchen to raid the kitchen for food.

 

Flicking the button on the stainless steel, Alex listened patiently for the water to boil. He kept her gaze, constantly focusing on her lack of being able to maintain eye contact. "The last time you lied this much to my face, you were hiding your pregnancy scare." Handing her a cup of coffee, both moved to a spot in the kitchen that wasn't covered in paper.

 

Eliza remained silent, softly stirring the golden liquid in a delicate blue-handled mug, "I've been staying at John and Hercules' apartment for the past week."

 

Alex replied quietly, a hint of joking in his voice, raising an eyebrow, "But John is gay, and might I say, dating me." 

 

"Hercules isn't though."

 

"Oh."

 

"And I think I might be pregnant."

 

"Oh shit." He paused, "Are you sure?"

 

She shook her head gently, finally meeting his gaze, "We've been on and off for a month now. But we decided to keep it quiet until now, before whole possibility of another human being turned up, we were going to tell everyone the night after the ball."

 

"You need to do a test."

 

"You need to plan your date with John- He's excited, I promise you."

 

"Eliza, having a potential life-form within you is much more important than any date"

 

She fumbled around, moving from her chair to walk slowly around the kitchen, feet brushing against each other as her pace slowly faltered, turning to Alexander with her eyes brimming with tears, a half whisper erupted from her mouth: "I'm so scared."

 

For the second time that day, Alexander Hamilton was rendered speechless. He held out his hand, in a gesture that used to mean so much more than friendship, his fingers outreached to hers as she moved closer to him, and eventually softly placing her head against his shoulder.

 

"What do I do?" She asked, her voice breaking the silence between them.

 

Turning around he looked directly into her fear-stricken eyes, and with the upmost sincerity, he smiled, "Time to pee on a stick."

 

*

 

**Text Messages: 30/3/2016**

 

**From: The oldest and the wittiest**

 

ALEXANDER

 

**From: The oldest and the wittiest**

 

WHERE IS SHE?

 

**From: The oldest and the wittiest**

 

ALEXANDERRRRRR

 

**From: The oldest and the wittiest**

 

DON'T FORGET TO REPLY

 

*

 

There was a certain kind of hubbub created in the White House: the slow hum of tired, dreary workers, pressing their fingers to the keys of their computers, and a low murmur of chatter which would fill the West Wing with a tired dreariness that only occurred towards the end of the day. There always seemed to be an eerie bubble surrounding the oval office, particularly at this time of day, where the President asked for quiet and calm, and no-body wanted to bother the President.

 

These were the moments that President George Washington favoured, where computer monitors littered with important information were transformed into darkness; the hour where Blackberry's were turned to silence and the moment where the light fixtures were dimmed down to make way for the hazy sunset peaking gently through the blinds. These were the points in the day where peace was treasured, and noise became a novelty.

 

There were so few novelties left in Washington's life: he missed the luxury of driving his car along the bank of the Potomac, wind rushing to greet his face and the weather seeming oddly calm, giving an odd sort of freedom to such a mundane task. He longed for the days where he could collapse into someone else's arms and not give a damn about long he stayed there. A man who embodied the country of the free, longed to escape, for a second- a glimpse at freedom.

 

In recent months, the President had found himself attached to a new kind of novelty, a storm named Lafayette that  waltzed into his life, releasing him from his prison of self-entrapment, and welcoming him to a life perfectly indescribable. Despite their informal relationship, the French Ambassador had found himself quite accustomed to the life within the White House, and he slowly started to become a permanent fixture in Washington's living quarters, which made a change from the clinical apartment that the embassy had bestowed upon Lafayette, and changed the empty feeling that the White House permeated in Winter. The change was good for both of them, whether they knew what was coming next or not.

 

It was, what regular people would deem as a 'Normal Saturday Night', there was a film of some description playing in the background as Lafayette lay his head against Washington's chest, as the elder man ran his fingers through curly spirals of dark hair. The French man lay there sleepily, thoughts of the previous hour running wild in his mind, and they would have continued to do so, if not for the manic buzzing of his phone against Washington's leg. Groping around the area to locate the vibrating device, Washington merely raised an eyebrow as Lafayette continued in his search, until a stream of profanities left his mouth, as he read the stream of messages that flooded his phone in a matter of seconds.

 

**From: Hercules**

 

SOS

 

**From: Hercules**

 

Laf, I need you

 

**From: Hercules**

 

Please man, I'm begging you

 

**From: Hercules**

 

I'm in deep shit

 

**From: John Laurens**

 

I think Herc is suffering some sort of panic attack, he just ripped apart a pair of trousers like the hulk

 

**From: John Laurens**

 

We all know what you're doing with a certain political figure, but please remove yourself- The world is not a happy place if Hercules is not happy

 

**To: John Laurens**

 

How did you know it was George?

 

**From: John Laurens**

 

I'm surprised the whole world doesn't know by now

 

*

 

The minute Hamilton's eyes lay on the positive pregnancy test, he was silent for only a few seconds, before incessantly panicking about everything there was to panic about: from pre-natal vitamins to post-natal depression, and delicately sidestepping some awkward topics about the clump of cells growing inside of his best friend. From the moment his mouth opened, Eliza wanted to do everything she could to make him stop until she couldn't possibly handle it anymore, slapping him in the jaw for good measure.

 

"Why is it the men, who panic?" She sighed, "There is not a child growing in your uterus, yet you seemed far more concerned, Alexander! From the moment I saw that test, you would not stop banging on about how my health and wellbeing is extremely valuable, and that I can't drink coffee for a large part of my life now, and I might as well wave goodbye to alcohol, let alone, cheese and shellfish and God knows what else- I know this Alexander, and as I'm sure your intentions were good and proper, you need to leave. Just get out of the flat, go for a walk, go for a run, have a coffee, go pester the bodega man you care so much about, but please stop talking so I can figure out what I'm going to do."

 

For the second time that day, Alexander Hamilton was rendered speechless. He opened his mouth, to simply remind her that it was his flat, not hers, but Eliza did not look impressed and pointed him in the direction of the door. So out he went, and as he walked, he ran into James Madison and Thomas Jefferson, both of which did not seem impressed that he had even dared to walk near the coffee shop they had declared as their own ground, and they made this very clear. Leading Alexander Hamilton in the direction of the emergency room, stumbling towards the entrance of the ER, Hamilton couldn't help but wonder if John Laurens would swoop in and save him from a black eye, and potentially many stiches. 

 

As the speechwriter stumbled into the emergency room, he felt a familiar pair of eyes latch upon his limp, lacklustre figure as he shuffled through the room.

 

"Alex, what happened", he suddenly heard a soft voice that was so familiar, yet full of disbelief. Blinking his eyes, he slowly fell into the arms of Dr John Laurens, "You can tell me, Alex, what happened." Alex suddenly felt an arm of security wrap around him, as his feet dragged across the foyer to the closest trauma room.

 

His voice tried to croak out an excuse, but the truth poured out of his mouth like water, "James Madison found out about us." He paused, taking the time to gather his thoughts, marked by a loud sigh, "Well, Madison and Jefferson. They believe that our rela-- what ever it is, is holding Washington's administration back. They unleashed their cronies on me as I was walking back."

 

"Oh." The man responded as he touched the other man's wounds, with gauze grazing across his forehead, "You fought back."

 

"Of course I did." Alex replied, winking gently at the man, "In all honesty, I came here to ask you on a date- the wounds were just added bonuses." He let out a soft chuckle, wincing only slightly, he neglected to mention that if Eliza had not kicked him out of his own apartment, this plan could have gladly waited until tomorrow, "From the moment I met you, I wanted something more than just someone to dance with at a gala, so I would love to take you out."

 

"On a proper date?" John asked, a smile forming across his lips, "I need to find Doctor Hopkins"

 

Alexander stared in confusion, his eyes screaming of the internal panic that was currently occurring in his mind, "John, don't leave", he called, as the younger man walked towards the door, not even looking behind him. A small sob escaped him, his mind producing thoughts of worry: _John couldn't even stand to be in the same room as you,_ his mind taunted rudely, _he's gone to get another doctor._

 

**"** This is Doctor Hopkins," John introduced, "She'll be your doctor from now on."

 

Alex continued to look confused, a small tear of worry creeping along the waterline of his eyelid.

 

"She will be your doctor from now on" John explained, "Because I'm not allowed to date my patients, and I would like to date you, Alexander Hamilton. Very much."

 

With a sigh of relief, Alexander Hamilton closed his eyes and smiled. He was going on a date, with John Fucking Laurens.

 

 


	5. But we dream in the dark for the most part

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello Hello!   
> After months of some insane writer's block, hectic university deadlines and partying as if my life depended on it- It feels as if I've no time to breathe, let alone write! It's taken me a few days to get back into the writing style of the fic, so it might not be as refined as some of the other chapters, but let me know what you think :)   
> This chapter takes place about two months or so from the last chapter(s).   
> As previously, this is told in parallel points of view, meaning that you essentially get the same chapter told from two alternate points of view (usually John and Alex).   
> As always, this is dedicated to my other half, the Moon to my Stars, the Queen Elizabeth to my Prince Philip, the springs to my trampoline ♥   
> DISCLAIMER: I had written this chapter before the #Covfefe incident, and just became a very odd coincidence. Ironically, I'd written the original plot line as I believed it never would have happened.. How wrong I was…  
> Remember to scribble down a comment in the box below!
> 
> Enjoy! x

[John]

 

It had become a weekly tradition for Alexander Hamilton to arrive at random points during John's night shift, brandishing a cup of coffee and an exhausted smile. For most relationships, the night shift acted as a relentless beast, mercilessly tearing loved ones apart through the unsociable hours and the way in which it's relentless hours would drain the life out of the most energetic doctors. But for Alex and John, it had seemed to work some sort of relationship-miracle, due to their bazaar sleep-patterns and crazy work-ethics, they had managed to use the night shift as an advantage, with Alex often dropping into the cafeteria to drink the crappy coffee and write compelling speeches about the way in which America needed to change. As he described to John, "How can I write about the people if I'm not surrounded by the people?" For John, the company was pleasant and more than gladly received, though the staff were like a family to him, it was hard not to feel lonely sometimes.

So it was no surprise when he turned up on the early hours of a Tuesday morning to greet John with a macchiato and a compelling speech on the American Healthcare System that John would happily read when his mind wasn't focused on the problems at hand: They had been inundated with soldiers, whose return home had been thwarted by a coach crash that had lead to far too many healthy men fighting for their lives due to an incident that could have been so easily prevented. He had dragged himself to a much needed break as one of his patients was looping in and out of critical condition. These were the days that reminded John why he wanted to become a doctor, taking him back to his eight-year-old self, where he would run around his living room, pretending to fix people, wrapping bandages around his siblings. These were the days were he also felt the most helpless. It was an impossible in between.

"And that's why I think Batman would be a far better advertisement for the Healthcare system over Superman" Alex's voice tuned into John's thoughts, "I just think he is a better superhero all around, but then again-- You have something more pressing on your mind than superheroes, you ok niña?"

He nodded sadly, "I'm sorry, Alex, it's just my mind isn't here today. I saw a 20 year old soldier die in a car crash. I saw a 6 year old orphaned on the day she expected her Daddy to come back from Afghanistan." He ran his hands over his scalp; delicate fingers passing tight corkscrew curls that were held securely at the nape of his neck. "I just-- I love hearing you talk, no matter what the conversation, and I do think that Batman would be far superior to Superman, but I would honestly prefer to see Robert Downey Jr as Iron Man advertising for Healthcare. But today, can I just sketch? Draw your gorgeous jawline and just bask in the fact that the best speechwriter in the world is sitting opposite me, with a cup of coffee, as my boyfriend."

For a rare moment in that day, Alex closed his mouth and the words ceased to pour out. His hand softly reaching it's way over to John's, fingers gently intertwining, gripping tightly around over his knuckles and the back of his hand. Both pairs of dark eyes connected, and Alex felt a small smile dance across his lips. "Hang on" He murmured, voice barely a whisper, "Boyfriend? You've never called me that before."

John's eyes quickly cast down to the pen and paper in front of him, ink floating around the paper, delicately joining line after line- The pen barely leaving the paper, as each stroke was marked with precision and exactitude. He raised his eyebrows ever so slightly, so he could capture the perfect glow of expectancy in his eyes.

Content with his sketch, he smiled, turning it towards Alex, "Alexander Hamilton, will you do me the honour of being my best bae and boyfriend?"

"Does my nose always look like that?" He joked, as he drew a small love heart in the corner of the scrap paper. His eyes met that of John's, "Nothing would make me more happier, than to parade around hand-in-hand with my boyfriend and make our friends sick with excessive PDA."

"God, you're beautiful." He replied, his spare hand reaching across the table to trace his jaw line with his thumb.

"Not God, just me" Alex smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, "Now go put the dope and dopamine."

"Put the dope in dopamine?" John smirked, "You really struggled, didn't you?"

"The only good ones I could think of were about death…" Alex replied, looking suddenly downcast and disappointed.

John kissed him again, "You tried, and I appreciate that." He grabbed both his hands in one last gesture of goodbye, "Do you want to come over after you've finished work?"

Alex kissed him, "I'll text you, MY BOYFRIEND, later, ok?"

The doctor nodded in reply.

"GO SAVE PEOPLE BABE" Alex shouted as John quietly left the cafeteria, grinning madly as the rest of the cafeteria latched their eyes onto the young speechwriter, who practically left the hospital skipping with delight.

 

 

*

 

**Text Messages- 31/05/2016**

 

**From: That Totally Hot Guy You Just Met In The Carpark**

 

I think I'm traumatised

 

**From: That Totally Hot Guy You Just Met In The Carpark**

 

I'm pretty sure I'll never recover

 

**From: That Totally Hot Guy You Just Met In The Carpark**

 

MY EYES CANNOT UNSEE THIS

 

**To: That Totally Hot Guy You Just Met In The Carpark**

 

Why? What's going on? Are you ok?

 

**To: That Totally Hot Guy You Just Met In The Carpark**

 

I haven't done my surgical rotation yet, I can't replace your eyes, so you might just have to live with what you've seen

 

**From: That Totally Hot Guy You Just Met In The Carpark**

 

I'm pretty sure I've just seen how well the Franco-American relations are going

 

**From: That Totally Hot Guy You Just Met In The Carpark**

 

And I never want to see that again

 

**To: That Totally Hot Guy You Just Met In The Carpark**

 

Please explain this in English

 

**From: That Totally Hot Guy You Just Met In The Carpark**

 

As it turns out, the President enjoys French Baguettes

 

**To: That Totally Hot Guy You Just Met In The Carpark**

 

Lafayette and Washington?

 

**From: That Totally Hot Guy You Just Met In The Carpark**

 

I'm pretty sure that the NSA is having a field day over these texts

 

*

 

 

His eyes rapidly blinked open, soft eyelashes blinking against his coffee-coloured skin, revealing deep pools of chocolate that were slowly adjusting to the light. Eyes suddenly sprung wide open, as the body of Dr John Laurens snapped up from his sleeping position, releasing that his tired body hadn't made it towards his bedroom, and instead flopped on the sofa, wrapped gently in fabric swatches, ribbons and various threads. He hadn't remembered falling asleep, his last memory being Hercules slumped in his armchair, slowly stitching away at another suit: each stitch identical to the last. Smiling at the memory, he swung his legs round, removing several swatches of fabric that had found themselves stuck to his arms.

Swinging the door open, Hercules  waltzed through to the kitchen, wearing nothing but a ratty pair of pyjama bottoms that had clearly seen better days. "Well, look at that", his voice boomed, "Sleeping Beauty has risen from his sleep."

"Good morning to you too, Herc", he replied, a soft smile on his face as his legs dragged him in the direction of coffee machine, whirring quietly in the corner of the kitchen. In reality, it was afternoon, but since working the night shift, John had waved goodbye to all thought and hope of a regular sleep schedule.

Chuckling, he pulled out his phone, revealing photos of a sleeping slack-jaw doctor, whose hair had comically stuck up around the crown of his head, "You make a beautiful princess, John."

"Please tell me you didn't send this to Alex", he quietly begged, knowing that if the photo was in his possession (which it probably was), it would instantly be pride of place in his office, on his phone and probably tattooed somewhere. After two months of dating the speechwriter, John knew one thing for certain, that he would never live this moment down. He groaned.

"I didn't send it", he interrupted John's never ending groan, allowing the doctor to gasp for one breath before the tailor quickly snatched it away, "But Eliza did."

There were no words for the noise that erupted from John's mouth, but Hercules made a mental note to reserve that one moment for the rest of his life. The sound was in between a gasp, a scream, a shout and the final noise that a character would make in a crappy horror film, and Hercules couldn't help but laugh until the tears cascaded from his face. After several moments of John collapsing to the floor and rolling around endlessly in despair, he stood up from his position and from that moment decided to resign himself to a life of embarrassment. Taking a gulp of disgustingly strong coffee, he grabbed the blanket from the sofa and slowly rolled into it, almost like a caterpillar wrapping itself in a tiny cocoon. "Things must be going well with Eliza if you bestowed her that moment of opportunity." 

"Define well" The other man replied, joining his cocooned friend on the floor, grabbing his knitting needles in order to punctuate the sentences with their predictable rhythm.

"I can't give you a dictionary definition, but I can tell you that you have something to tell me, because that's the only time the knitting needles come out- This we both know." He rested his head on Hercules' shoulder and sighed, "You can't keep making tea cosies forever, Hercules."

"Secret tea cosies" He replied, continuing to clatter the needles together as if his life depended on it, his rhythm continuing at an exact pace, each loop followed another, and each row was soon created, already evolving into a labour of love.

Suddenly, the air in the room changed, a soft feminine laugh emerged from the corner of the room, bubbling away melodically. "There is nothing secret about those tea cosies." Eliza walked over to the two men slumped against the kitchen island, delicately removing the chinking knitting needles from the hands of her love, and instead repaid him with a chaste kiss. Gripping his hand tightly, she nodded to him in a silent signal, the corners of her mouth turning up ever so slightly. "John," Her voice nothing more than a whisper broke the booming silence between the three of them, "Herc and I are having a baby."

He felt a grin spread across his face, beaming from ear to ear, "Oh my goodness, you guys! This is fantastic! This is unbelievable! This is-"

"Something you already knew" Eliza interrupted, gauging John's excitable reaction. "It's ok, John, I know Alex can't keep a secret, and I'm surprised Herc didn't spill the beans when he had a panic attack. Lafayette hacked the POTUS twitter so he could tell the world, and thankfully failed in his mission, but we didn't want to mention anything before the twelve week scan. We wanted everything to be OK before we asked you to be the Godfather."

He felt as if the wind was suddenly taken out of his sails; he was rendered speechless. It was true, Alex had blurted it the minute Eliza had peed on the stick, along with the picture of said pregnancy test. He was there for Herc's panic attack, but they both silently knew the reason without having to explain it. He silently pondered over the twitter hacking incident, where there had been an international press frenzy over the single tweet that read, "ELIZA IS GOING TO." A string of people (including George Washington himself), had unknowingly pressed send, allowing the whole world to speculate who Eliza was and what she was going to do. Since then, the tweet had been deleted, but the universe still condemned it as one of the funniest tweets of all time, creating a trending hashtag and a memorial day that would be celebrated every year on twitter.

His mouth had finally opened, words started pouring from his lips, making little to no sense. After an unsure amount of mumbling later, he smiled, thanked them, and enraptured them in a hug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say that I was incredibly overwhelmed to see this short collection of ramblings has over 700 views?! WTF?! I never expected to get this kind of reaction, and I'm thrilled to have so many people clicking on this fic and giving it a read- So if you've been here since Chapter 1 was first posted, or you've only just joined, thank you so much! It's so lovely to write for an amazing audience :)   
> *Rambling over*  
> Thank you for reading!


	6. The Sky's The Limit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lot happens in a day of the life of Alexander Hamilton...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this chapter has been a long time coming... I don't feel as if I have a valid excuse for not uploading, but what I will say, is that my life has been incredibly hectic over the summer, and my writer's block has been terrible!  
> This chapter isn't the most refined, but I was so desperate to get some form of writing out to you guys before the summer officially finishes! Though it's not perfect, I hope you will enjoy it nonetheless.  
> As I've said before, this fic is in parallel narrative, meaning each chapter is told from both Alex and John's perspective. This chapter is in Alex's point of view.  
> I hope you enjoy this chapter, so please drop me a comment below. I also don't really have a particular plot line at the moment, so if you guys have any ideas (they can be as insane as you like- I won't judge!) please drop them in the comments!  
> As always, this is dedicated to the love of my life, the Sirius to my Remus and the Alec Lightwood to my Magnus Bane.  
> I've also been writing a blog whilst I've been at university, so if you would like to hear more about my life outside of being a fanfiction geek, you can have a look at: https://howjamieoliverruinedmylife.wordpress.com/  
> Also, thank you to everyone who has bookmarked, or dropped a Kudos on this fic! It means so much!
> 
> Finally, 928 hits, what the f***? Thank you so much for reading this! It feels amazing to get this amazing response from some fabulous people ♥

[Alex]

 

To Alexander Hamilton, coffee was not a drink- It was a way of life. From the minute his eyes opened until the second he was dragged away by sleep, every moment of his life was filled with thought, and most of the time, coffee was his only fuel. He recalled the darkest days where his sleep deprived mind had knocked several bags of decaf coffee into his shopping basket- Never again would he make that mistake. Most mornings, he trusted others with his life support, dark swirling liquid circling in a cup, poured by a barista who was being paid far too little to have the ability to decant pure heaven into a mug. Coffee became a ritual in his life, work and now his relationship. John had joked that if Alex ever had an affair, it would probably be with a bath full of the richest, darkest coffee that he could find in DC. His necessity for caffeine morphed into a tradition, to revive John from the most impossible of shifts at the ER, where he saw sights no twenty-something should see, but he bore the work bravely. He was living his dream, and Alex was living his, and he could not think of anything more perfect.

There were days where his brain wouldn’t fill with words. There were hours where he couldn't understand why he had embarked on this career path: he could have been a journalist, a lawyer, a jazz musician or one of those little men who sits outside stores with a newspaper and pretends to ignore the world. These were the days where John often found Alex, flopping outside the doors of the Hospital Cafeteria or lounging in the doorway of his apartment. It was John, who made him feel whole again; he would fill his brain; reassure him of his life choices and kissed him until the off switch in his brain had flicked off.

This was one of those evenings: His brain felt empty, a void that could not be filled: a hole slowly enlarging and encapsulating the vacant spaces in his mind. He had collapsed to the floor, head resting against the cool steel of the bottom of the door, hands steadily gripping the coffee cup: coffee coloured skin turning pale as his grip firmly tightened. His notes were sprawled around his knees: scratchy handwriting filling the paper, dark ink covering the page from corner to corner, additional notes squeezed into tiny hand-drawn boxes around the page, with his self-doubt masquerading as rhetorical questions throughout the page. The other side of the paper told a different story, the random thoughts that had distracted him whilst he continued to write, the title: Google must know the answer covering the top quarter of the page, in bold letters and underlined. His scrawl-covered papers floated around him in a seamless wave, colours from the highlighted passages dancing around the sea of paper. As John approached this mess of former trees, his sleep deprived eyes took pity on the speechwriter who continued his endless stream of rhetoric, not noticing the exhausted doctor standing slightly over him.

Before slowly plodding to the cafeteria, Alex handed his favourite ER doctor a familiar white cardboard cup, with the plastic lid holding in the warmth of the sugary liquid hidden inside it; the black marker scribbled along the side, eloquently brandishing the words 'Hot Doctor John.'

"Hot doctor John?" John questioned, raising an eyebrow to Alex as they made their way to the table that had seemed to had become their own in recent weeks.

Alex chuckled in response, his hair bobbing up and down as the soft laugh babbled from his lips, "they asked who it was for, and I responded cordially," He twisted his own cup to reveal the scrawl hidden over his cup, 'Won't stop talking.'

"Won't stop talking?" John questioned again, smirking proudly this time, "Do I have to guess why they put that as your name, or is it fairly obvious?"

"Well," Alex replied, his fingers fiddling with the cardboard cup holder, making small rips in the material, creating an odd pattern, "I explained my name, and then the thought went through my head, what is the significance of a name, does it replicate anything in my life? What sort of a name is Alex? Millions of people have the same name but somehow it means there coffee orders will be completely different. And then the rant continued for several minutes, implying the name on the cup."

They continued to converse over the mundane aspects of day-to-day life covering everything from the weather to different cups of coffee, but soon as the conversation rolled along, Alex began to organise his notes comparing Superman to Batman on their legitimacy for healthcare advertising, saying that the Dark Knight is far more superior than a flying-cape-donning-spectacleless superhuman, who is destroyed by Kryptonite. "How is that a good advertisement for healthcare? That's essentially saying that the medicine that hospitals provide you could ultimately provide you with a weakness. And that's why I think Batman would be a far better advertisement for the Healthcare system over Superman .I just think he is a better superhero all around, but then again-- " As he looked up across the table, both sets of dark chocolate eyes connecting briefly, before Alex realised the pain was softly ingrained into his brow, thick eyebrows furrowing together in an attempt to connect the two. "You have something more pressing on your mind than superheroes, you ok niña?"

His head nodded solemnly, with soft curls bouncing over to the corner of his forehead, "I'm sorry, Alex, it's just my mind isn't here today. I saw a 20 year old soldier die in a car crash. I saw a 6 year old orphaned on the day she expected her Daddy to come back from Afghanistan." The man across him felt the hairs stand up to attention along the back of his neck, slowly realising that another child would have to grow up endlessly feeling the need to surpass expectations and grow up much faster than they needed to. His mind quickly flashed to his childhood, the constant stares from the neighbours- the looks of pity and grief for the children who had to parade around the town as if nothing had happened.  He noticed John's nervousness, bringing up such a sensitive topic, as his hands ran quickly over the corkscrew curls around her head. "I just-- I love hearing you talk, no matter what the conversation, and I do think that Batman would be far superior to Superman, but I would honestly prefer to see Robert Downey Jr as Iron Man advertising for Healthcare. But today, can I just sketch? Draw your gorgeous jawline and just bask in the fact that the best speechwriter in the world is sitting opposite me, with a cup of coffee, as my boyfriend."

Alex shut his jaw, deciding quiet was the only thing he needed. He was soon mesmerised by the pen floating along the paper, each line seamlessly connecting. He suddenly lightly jumped in his chair with a hint of shock, the word 'boyfriend' circling around the room. "Hang on" He murmured, voice barely a whisper, "Boyfriend? You've never called me that before." He kept staring incessantly at John, partly through aspects of shock and awe, and every few seconds their eyes connected as John recaptured the images of his partner.

John made his final adjustments, he decided to leave the piece of art well alone and turned it to face him, "Alexander Hamilton, will you do me the honour of being my best bae and boyfriend?"

"Does my nose always look like that?" Alex grasped the pen and drew small hearts in the corner, before their eyes connected once more, "Nothing would make me more happier, than to parade around hand-in-hand with my boyfriend and make our friends sick with excessive PDA."

"God, you're beautiful." He replied, his spare hand reaching across the table to trace his jaw line with his thumb.

"Not God, just me" Alex smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, "Now go put the dope and dopamine."

"Put the dope in dopamine?" John smirked, "You really struggled, didn't you?"

"The only good ones I could think of were about death…" Alex replied, looking suddenly downcast and disappointed.

John kissed him again, "You tried, and I appreciate that." He grabbed both his hands in one last gesture of goodbye, "Do you want to come over after you've finished work?"

Alex kissed him, "I'll text you, MY BOYFRIEND, later, ok?"

The doctor nodded in reply.

"GO SAVE PEOPLE BABE" Alex shouted as John quietly left the cafeteria, grinning madly as the rest of the cafeteria latched their eyes onto the young speechwriter, who practically left the hospital skipping with delight.

 

*

 

**Text Messages: 31/05/2016**

 

**From: Betsey**

 

How do we tell John?

 

**To: Betsey**

 

Tell John what?

 

**To: Betsey**

 

Eliza, you really have to add context into your messages, I could tell John a myriad of things, but who knows if it's the thing you plan on telling him

 

**To: Betsey**

 

Why are you asking me? I've only known him three months?

 

**To: Betsey**

 

Seriously though, what do you need to tell him?

 

**To: Betsey**

 

Who is we?

 

**From: Betsey**

 

Do you ever think you could send a message without asking so many questions?

 

**To: Betsey**

 

You should give yourself that advice

 

**From: Betsey**

 

Shhh… Help me… How do I break to John that the small human being in my uterus will be invading his apartment in six months?

 

**To: Betsey**

 

I don't know?!

 

**To: Betsey**

 

Ask Herc?

 

**To: Betsey**

 

Why are you asking me?

 

**From: Betsey**

 

How I ever dated you, I will never know

 

*

 

The deafening sound of the door slam continued to ring in his ears, as his knees buckled, Alex felt his back slowly sliding against the wood of the white ornate door. Feeling the resistance between his back and the door, his legs gave way, allowing his body to slump against the door that held the secrets of the modern world.

 

~~It wasn't like Alex to burst in uninvited.~~

~~It wasn't like Alex to burst into the oval uninvited.~~

It wasn't unusual for Alexander Hamilton to burst into the oval uninvited, even without having to flirt outrageously with scared secretary, who often slumped sloppily over a desk outside the office. But as Alex approached the door, he didn't even notice the lack of the bearded-hipster, whose snide remarks would often go unheard.

Despite the early hour of the morning, his mind was buzzing with coffee: every brain cell pinging with excitable insanity, and every thought coherently linking with the next. Something had lit the fuse in his mind, allowing his writing to almost flow through his veins, practically flooding the page with consistent imagery and powerful thought. This speech, that he gripped with the little strength he had left in his arms, could possibly define the presidency, and Alexander Hamilton had formed it with his own pen. A pen that had the power to destroy careers, and build lives, had just defined the term of one of the greatest presidents America had seen. His words had formed the most elegant marriage between pen and paper, and it was finally time to present it to Washington. As he prepared to burst through the door, speech grasped firmly between his fingers, his mind suddenly threw him back to hours ago, where he was sitting across from his freckle-faced doctor _. He's a doctor_ , his mind screamed, bursting with inane pride _, a Doctor, and I love him, he's passionate and he's intelligent, and Jesus Christ, a doctor_. As he thought back to John, his mind slowly danced away from reality, swooning with infinite _. He's a doctor_ , his mind screamed again _, and he's mine._ By this point, Alex was almost skipping into the oval, and in reality, he had to loop round the office twice with excitement, before deciding to enter the oval, unprepared for what might greet him.

His smile soon vanished as he opened the door to witness things he never should have seen.

"Whatsgoinon?" He blurted, as his eyes sprang open like a jack-in-the-box and quickly snapped shut again, trying to remove the images from his mind.  He left the oval office as quickly as he had entered, and soon found his legs buckling beneath him.

As soon as his legs functioned once more, he leapt from the door and slowly ran through the west wing, unsure of who to call or who to tell, or could he tell anyone even? _Did people walk in on Monica Lewinski and Bill Clinton?_ He mused as he continued to run, trying to erase the images from his mind. _Oh this could be worse than Monica gate_ , he sighed, his brain now aching with confusion, _at least Bill Clinton wasn't wearing the French Secretary like a hat._

 

*


	7. Just You Wait

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have a massive apology to make: I am incredibly sorry that it has taken me so long to update this work. It's been a while, hasn't it? Life has gotten in the way recently, and I haven't been able to write as often as I would wish. 
> 
> This chapter is a lot shorter than the rest of the work, and is just a cute Lams moment celebrating life (and a particularly pointless holiday), just until I can get into the swing of writing with these lovely characters again. 
> 
> As you read every-time, this work is told in parallel point of view, with this chapter being John's version of Chapter 4. I really hope you enjoy this cutesy non-plot-moving interlude. 
> 
> I've also been writing a blog whilst I've been at university, so if you would like to hear more about my life outside of being a fanfiction geek, you can have a look at: https://howjamieoliverruinedmylife.wordpress.com/ I often rant about feminism and life in general, and will hopefully be updating it very soon!
> 
> I can't believe this day-dream of a fic has hit over 1000 views. Thank you for all the love ♥, I will hopefully be uploading again very very soon.
> 
> This is once more dedicated to the Meredith to my Lexie; The Angelica to my Eliza; The Cheese to my Pizza and the Runes to my Shadowhunter. 
> 
> Have an amazing day, dolls, be sure to drop a comment in that box below.

[John]

 

After a night shift at the hospital, you don't fall into bed. Rather, you collapse, wishing the mattress would swallow you whole. The morning John Laurens collapsed into his bed, a smile emerged on his face as he felt the lazy arm of his boyfriend loop around his waist. The young doctor felt kisses being peppered along the back of his neck, soft, slow and sumptuous, this sleepy morning was the thing of dreams. _Was it a dream?_ He mused, as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, senses tingling and eyes glistening with sleepiness. _It must be a dream_ , he thought, as he slowly drifted off to sleep.

 

This was soon ruined by a smash, followed by a string of expletives.

 

Confused and tired, John willed himself to leave the soft cocoon of his duvet, to be greeted by a very emotional Hamilton, covered in coffee and some sort of pastry? Laptop caked in some sort of sticky liquid, and his phone that had been  swiftly smashed as it fell to the floor, was laying in the debris. The future speeches for the President of the United States were strewn across the floor, all dripping wet. A soft smile cracked on John's face, as he saw the sleep deprived speech writer trying to make sense of what had just happened, but every time he opened his mouth, little sense came from it. Methodically, the young speechwriter soon started to tidy, with each mess creating more confusion, what was Alex trying to do?

 

The doctor smiled, resigning himself to the idea that sleep would be alluding him for the rest of the day. Allowing himself to let a soft chuckle, he roped his arms around the smaller man, wrapping him in a tight embrace.

 

"Alexander", he sighed, "Will you ever learn that you need an ounce of sleep?"

 

The young speechwriter huffed, unravelling himself from the strong arms of the doctor. Jumping swiftly from the bed, in a clumsy attempt to tidy the room. After a pregnant pause, mostly of Alexander looking more puzzled than ever, the other man fell into the damp heap of crumb filled sheets, which were soaked in orange juice.

 

"Happy Flag Day, babe" Hamilton replied, smiling as he looked around the sloping walls of John's room, which had all been bedecked in various flags. Each surface of the room was decorated with some sort of ornament: flags, banners, and some form of bunting flowing around in the light breeze of morning. A small smirk appeared over John's face as he observed the various colourful amalgamations adorning his flat: flags from Puerto Rico, South Carolina, Nevis, Wales and countless others, not to mention the American flag printed over George Washington's face.

 

"Alex, what is this?" John asked with an unabashed giggle forming between his lips.

 

Sighing, the speechwriter gasped and allowed his jaw to swing open: "You mean you don't love flag day?"

 

Sitting up, picking up various flags and crumbs spread amongst his bed, he felt his lips reaching towards the other man's forehead. "I love flag day, with all of this madness", his lips reached the tip of his nose, and smiled, "You're crazy."

 

Another pause filled the air, this time less suspenseful, instead filled with bubbling awe and excitement. His fingers softly brushed the nape of the younger man's neck, slowly caressing the small wisps of hair at the back of his neck. John's lips slowly reached his partner's, and with a breathy laugh, he gasped as the perilous words left his lips: "I love you, Baby Girl."

 

*

 

**Text Messages: 14/06/2016**

 

**To: The Worst Roommate Ever**

 

Flag day is a national holiday right?

 

**From: The Worst Roommate Ever**

 

Why do you ask?

 

**To: The Worst Roommate Ever**

 

Just wondering if our great President has given his staff the day off

 

**From: The Worst Roommate Ever**

 

Why do you ask?

 

**To: The Worst Roommate Ever**

 

No reason

 

**To: The Worst Roommate Ever**

 

Happy Flag Day!

 

**To: The Worst Roommate Ever**

 

You might want to get some earplugs...

 

**From: The Worst Roommate Ever**

 

Why are you celebrating Flag Day?

 

**From: The Worst Roommate Ever**

 

Don't answer that.

 

**From: The Worst Roommate Ever**

 

Enjoy time with your Baby Girl.

 

**From: The Worst Roommate Ever**

 

The warning was a bit late, the whole flat heard you celebrating "Flag Day"... The walls in this flat are not soundproof, niña

 

*

**Author's Note:**

> LEND ME YOUR WORDS!  
> (In other words, please scribble down a review)


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